Blinded
by Revhead
Summary: Starsky had trouble being blindfolded for an hour, but now he's been blinded for real... Not intended as slash, but I can see how it might come across that way a little...


**Blinded**

Having finally broken free from the garbage cans he had crashed into and cursing his slowness, Hutch careened around the street corner in pursuit of his partner. The alleyway seemed to stretch for an eternity ahead of him, but at the far end he could just see Starsky, still running. No sign of the felon they were after.

Hutch sucked in a desperate breath, and then continued his sprint, hoping to get there in time to help.

He was gradually closing in, but Hutch was still too far away. Out of nowhere, a heavy club swung hard at Starsky's skull as he passed. He crumpled, and the felon appeared again from a small gap in the buildings, club in hand.

_Starsky!_ Hutch yelled internally, instinct telling him to keep it quiet and sneak up from behind. The man was – occupied... Hutch's heart sank as he realised that the man didn't intend on leaving just yet. He brought the club down again and again, and Hutch was sure that he would continue until Starsky was dead.

Not on his watch.

Hutch slowed down enough so his footsteps were silent and moved deeper into the shadows. He was closer now, and he could hear the man laughing as he beat Starsky to d- as he beat up Starsky. Hutch forced himself to be cautious, even though he wanted nothing more than to run screaming to his partner's defence. They had been after this guy for months, both looking forward to seeing him locked up in jail, and Hutch knew that he couldn't blow it now. Drat the police regulation that said he had to give a warning shot before shooting.

Hating himself for it, Hutch gradually eased up behind the man, allowing him to continue raining blows upon his partner until he was in a better position to act. When the felon slammed the club into Starsky's skull for the second time, though, Hutch couldn't wait any longer. He lunged forward and grabbed the man's arms, twisting them hard and abruptly behind his back. Startled, the man lost his grip on his club and Hutch used the opportunity to slap him in handcuffs, then knocked him unconscious for good measure.

"Starsky?" he asked finally, dropping down beside his battered and bruised partner, hoping to God that he wasn't dead. "Starsky?" he repeated softly, hesitating before gently cupping Starsky's cheek. "C'mon, bud, look at me." And for a long, horrifying moment, Hutch thought that he wasn't going to respond, that it was too late.

A gentle moan escaped Starsky's lips, and his eyes fluttered open. "H-Hut-ch?" he coughed weakly.

Hutch exhaled a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding and offered a smile. "I'm here, buddy."

The blue eyes swivelled in his direction, but they weren't focused like he knew they should be, and Hutch's heart plummeted to the floor. _No._

"H-Hutch?"

"I'm right here, bud," Hutch said reassuringly, unvoiced dread welling up inside him. He slowly lifted his free hand and waggled the fingers in front of Starsky's face. No reaction.

"What...time...?"

Hutch frowned. "Hmm?"

"'S so dark... Night?" Starsky's eyes were wide, searching blindly.

Hutch almost choked on his words. "We only started work a couple of hours ago, remember?" he whispered. "It's only just past 12."

Starsky recoiled as if he'd been slapped. "Hutch," he said frantically, and Hutch really didn't want to hear what was coming, "I can't see. I can't see anything!"

Hutch flinched at hearing it said aloud, but tried to sound confident when he said, "It's gonna be okay. We just have to get you to the hospital, they'll patch you up, good as new."

"Sure," Starsky agreed, trying to smile and failing miserably.

"C'mon," Hutch said in a falsely cheery voice, pulling Starsky to his feet. He had forgotten about his other injuries, though.

"My head-" Starsky started to groan, then let out a yelp of pain and doubled over. "Ribs," he gasped, arms wrapping tight around his middle. "Oh God, it hurts. Hutch, I can't-"

Hutch's hands shot out to catch him as Starsky collapsed, unconscious. He needed an ambulance.

Hutch gently laid his partner out on the ground and then grabbed the semi-revived felon by his collar and dragged him back to the Torino. He threw him carelessly into the back seat before pouncing on the radio. "This is Zebra Three, requesting an ambulance..."

It was there within 10 minutes of his call, but to Hutch it felt like an age had passed before he heard sirens and was able to lead the ambulance to where Starsky lay.

"What happened?" the paramedic in charge asked.

"He was severely beaten with that club over there," Hutch gestured to it with disdain, "struck in the head at least twice. He was still conscious, but he couldn't see anything," _Oh God, let it be temporary_, "and he was complaining about his ribs before he fainted..."

The paramedic nodded, his expression grave. "We'll do our best."

Hutch wanted to scream that it wasn't good enough, but Starsky's voice floated back to him from another time and place. _'Don't antagonise the people I need.'_ Instead, Hutch dipped his head slightly. "Thankyou."

* * *

When Starsky woke it was to a black and disorienting world. He tried to open his eyes to see what was going on, where he was, but having his eyelids peeled back didn't change anything. He couldn't see.

Trying to fight back the waves of panic as his mind went into overdrive, Starsky couldn't help but think of the time he had been captured by members of Simon's cult and blindfolded, unable to see his attackers as they chanted ceaselessly and beat him to a bloody pulp...

Starsky lurched upright, gasping as pain shot through his head and body. _Not again, please not again._

Then hands were on him, forcing him down, and Starsky screamed. "HUTCH!!" He struggled violently, trying to dislodge the hands. "HUTCH!"

"Detective, please, calm-"

He wasn't listening, fighting for all he was worth. "HUTCH!" he yelled again, and his fist lashed out to catch someone on the jaw, which freed the left side of his body. Terrific.

Moments later the restraints were gone and Starsky staggered to his feet, only to misplace a step and tumble from the – ledge? – he was on. He hit the floor hard, and pain surged through him again.

Determined to get out of there, Starsky somehow managed to stand up and take a few unsteady steps forward. His hands hit a – cave wall? – but it gave at his touch. A door. He stumbled out gratefully, only to crash into someone coming the other way.

"Starsky?" The voice was familiar.

"Hutch!" he replied weakly, seizing a fistful of shirt and burying his pounding head in his partner's chest. "Oh God, Hutch..." He began to shudder and found that he couldn't stop, sobs wracking his frame as all his terror and relief found an outlet. He was safe, but he was blind, and everything was wrong, except for the feeling of arms around him, because that was Hutch, and Hutch would protect him.

"Shh... Babe, it's okay, I've got you."

"I'm scared, Hutch," Starsky admitted, his words muffled and interspersed with sobs. "I can't see, and I thought I was there again... I can't see, Hutch, and I don't know what happened or where I am..."

"Shh..." Hutch's voice, full of love and concern and reassurance. Starsky quieted, and Hutch continued gently, "You're in the hospital. The guy we were after hurt you pretty bad, and hit your head a couple of times."

"'S why I can't see?"

Starsky could sense Hutch's faint smile. "Yeah, but the doctors say it's only for a few weeks, not permanent."

Starsky gave a wobbly sigh of relief, unable to prevent the tears from slipping down his cheeks. "You get the bad guy?" he asked softly.

A gentle laugh, and the arms tightened. "Yeah, bud. He can't hurt you anymore."

Starsky nodded weakly. After a moment, he heard Hutch address someone behind him.

"I'd like to take him home."

"We really should keep him here overnight..." a doctor's voice ventured, and Starsky trembled involuntarily at the thought of waking up in an unfamiliar place again.

A hand trailed comfortingly through his hair, and Hutch murmured quietly, "It's okay." Louder he said, "Doc, I appreciate your concern, but you've done all you can for him at the moment and I really think my partner would feel more comfortable in a place he knew."

A brief pause, then, "Very well. If you give me an address I can send someone over in a few days to check up on him."

Hutch was smiling again, Starsky knew. "Thanks Doc, I appreciate it." He rattled off his home address, rather than Starsky's apartment, but that was okay because Starsky knew that place like the back of his hand in any case, and then Hutch was gently coaxing him down the corridor.

Starsky knew that his ribs should have been hurting, but with Hutch there the pain seemed to fade into insignificance and he made it to the car without having to stop. Hutch opened the door for him and gently helped him inside. Then the contact vanished and all Starsky's fears came flooding back with a vengeance as he stared with sightless eyes at the dashboard.

The sound of another door opening, and Starsky heard his partner get into the drivers seat. Fleetingly a hand covered his own, then the engine started and they were moving.

It was the most terrifying thing Starsky had ever experienced. It felt like they were going a hundred miles an hour, swerving wildly around corners and liable to crash at any moment. Starsky unconsciously braced himself in the seat, gripping the edges until he was sure his knuckles were turning white. He knew that Hutch was being careful, but he always felt better at the wheel, and the inability to see what was ahead of them or predict when the car would turn was turning the simple journey into a living nightmare. He wished it would just end...

* * *

Hutch gently pulled into his driveway, barely needing to slow down after the careful pace he had been going at. Hutch turned to his passenger with an easy smile, and then realised how terrified Starsky looked. His face was pale, his muscles were tensed and he was covered in sweat, shaking uncontrollably.

Horrified at himself, Hutch shot out of the car and dashed to his partner's side, flinging open the door and gathering Starsky into his arms.

"Oh baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Hutch crooned softly. "It's okay now, we're home." He continued this way for a while, stroking the dark head of curls until the tremors subsided.

"S'rry," Starsky hiccoughed, pulling away slightly.

"For what?" Hutch replied gently, brushing away the trails of moisture on Starsky's cheek with his thumb. "It's okay to be scared, you know. I would be too."

Starsky's lips twitched. "You're scared of everything, Hutch. It's not much of a credit to me."

Hutch laughed softly, then drew Starsky out of the car. "Let's get you inside, huh? You hungry?"

Starsky's smile broadened. "Depends if you got any real food, not that bird feed you seem to be so intent on," he quipped.

Hutch laughed again. "I might."

Starsky clapped his hands together. "Terrific." Then he frowned. "No tricks, hey Hutch? I'm trusting you, partner." While the words were still said in humour, Hutch caught the undercurrent of seriousness.

"Would I do that to you?" he asked playfully, the mischief in his voice belied by the reassuring hand he placed on Starsky's shoulder as he led him into the house.

"Wouldn't put it past ya," Starsky groused, with a faint, satisfied smile on his face.

Hutch settled him onto the couch and then vanished into the kitchen. "How about a salami sandwich?" he called, pulling his stash of 'Starsky stuff' from the back of the fridge.

"With?" Starsky replied suspiciously.

Hutch shook his head fondly. "Cheese and a bit of salad, coffee on the side."

A pause. Then, "Yeah, okay."

Hutch smiled and set to work quickly, knowing that Starsky would still be feeling a little nervous when he was alone.

"Here you go," he said a few minutes later, placing the sandwich in Starsky's hand and the coffee on the table.

Starsky sniffed it cautiously, then bit in with relish. "Not bad," he mumbled with his mouth full. Soon the sandwich was consumed, and Starsky hesitantly reached out for his coffee mug.

Hutch let him, not concerned if the cup suffered an early death and wanting to let Starsky do it on his own.

The outstretched hand nudged it gently, and carefully curled around the handle. As Starsky lifted it, Hutch wondered if he should have started with a cold drink first, just in case, but his partner managed it all right.

As Starsky finished the drink, Hutch was satisfied that the meal had passed without incident, and so didn't notice when Starsky set the cup down. It teetered precariously on the edge for a moment, and when Starsky pulled his hand away it fell to the floor with a crash.

Hutch jumped slightly, but it was nothing to Starsky's reaction. The brunet nearly leapt out of his skin and jerked away so violently that the couch was shoved backwards.

"Hey, Starsk, it's all right," Hutch said immediately, pulling him away from the shattered pottery and wrapping his arms around the shuddering form.

As the panic faded, Starsky muttered something that sounded like 'basket case' but Hutch didn't comment on it.

"It's getting late," he said quietly. "Why don't we get you to bed?"

Starsky started to protest. "I'll sleep on the couch, I don't mind..."

Hutch steered him gently but firmly toward the bedroom, saying as he did, "The doctor let me take you home because he knows that I'm gonna take good care of you – and that doesn't include letting you sleep on a lumpy mattress when you have a concussion, two fractured ribs and a bunch of bruises to recover from."

Starsky made a non-committal grunt, but didn't protest further.

Hutch fished out a pair of Starsky's pyjama's that he always kept on hand for such an occasion, while Starsky struggled out of his street clothes. Without being asked, Hutch helped him into the pj's and then tucked him under the covers.

For a long moment Hutch studied his partner's face, noticing the lines of pain and worry as well as the constant straining in Starsky's eyes to see something in the perceived darkness. He ruffled the dark curls affectionately. "Sleep," he reminded the brunet, before padding quietly out of the room.

Hutch cleared up the broken mug, and then sat down to eat his own dinner, letting himself relax. It had been a hard day on both of them, and he was glad for the peace.

Hutch wasn't sure how much time had passed when a hesitant voice said, "Hutch?"

Hutch glanced up to see Starsky standing in the doorway, a hand on the frame to keep him steady. He looked somewhat shaken.

"Yeah, Starsk, what is it?" Hutch asked, rising to his feet and moving to join the brunet.

Starsky's head turned at the sound of footsteps, the expression he wore rather sheepish. "Nothing really, it's just..." He trailed off, unable to put his request into words.

Hutch squeezed his hand, realising that the faint sounds of night-time were probably loud and exaggerated in Starsky's mind as his hearing worked overtime to provide the information that sight no longer could. Starsky was scared, but he didn't want to say it in so many words, so Hutch saved him the trouble.

"How 'bout I stay with you tonight, huh?" Hutch suggested. "It's getting a bit lonely out here."

Starsky's face crinkled into a relieved smile, and Hutch laughed softly. "C'mon then." He tugged his partner back to the bed and made sure he was comfortable before climbing in on the other side.

An owl hooted suddenly and Starsky jerked in alarm. Hutch rubbed his arm as silent reassurance before gently pulling the brunet back against his chest. Subconsciously, Starsky snuggled in closer and Hutch carefully wrapped an arm around him, taking one of his hands in his own. Starsky relaxed, then, and moments later he was breathing deeply, asleep.

A smile flittered across Hutch's lips before he, too, drifted into slumber.

* * *

When Starsky woke the next morning, he was puzzled at first as to why he felt so completely calm and at peace. When he tried to open his eyes he found that everything remained black, and he remembered that he couldn't see, but surprisingly even that didn't shake the feeling that everything was all right. He could sense the panic and foreboding fluttering at the edges of his mind, but it was as though there was something shielding him from it.

After a few, long moments of trying to work it out, Starsky became aware of a gentle _thud, thud_ in his ears. Someone's heartbeat? And then, too, a slight pattern of movement behind him. Breathing. It was then that Starsky realised he was holding someone's hand, and the rest of it felt into place. Hutch was curled up around him, holding him close even as he slept, and Starsky knew that there was no safer place in the world that he could be.

He smiled to himself and nestled into a more comfortable position, perfectly content to lie there and wait until Hutch woke up. He knew that the coming weeks were going to be hard, but realised now more than ever that Hutch would be there every step of the way, and they'd make it though this together. That was what partners were for.

An unmeasured amount of time later, Starsky felt movement behind him and heard the blonde yawn. There was a faint start of surprise, and then Hutch relaxed into the embrace, resting his head on Starsky's.

"Hey, sleepy-head," Starsky murmured.

Hutch pulled back slightly, and there was warmth in his voice that indicated a smile. "You're awake."

"Mm-hmm," Starsky agreed.

Hutch laughed softly, then said, "How're you feeling?"

Starsky had to think about that one, but gradually the sensations of pain drifted past his blissful contentment, and he realised that getting up wasn't going to be fun. "Ahhh... The headache's setting in, so the painkillers have worn off, an' I think that my ribs ain't gonna like any change in position..." He trailed off, seeing no point in mentioning that he was beginning to feel the bruises, too. Ahh, why'd Hutch have to ask?

Hutch squeezed his hand, wordlessly offering his support, and Starsky gratefully sank back against him. Gradually the pounding in his head melded with the beating of Hutch's heart, and Starsky found that he was able to put off the pain a little longer.

Eventually Hutch untangled himself and slid off the bed. Starsky opened his eyes to see where his partner was going, but then closed them with frustration.

"Where you goin'?" he asked, trying to make it sound liked an offhanded question. He doubted that he could fool Hutch, though.

"Sorry, Starsk," Hutch apologised, his quiet understanding evident. "I was just going to get us breakfast." Starsky could practically see the slight raise of Hutch's eyebrows as he asked, "You hungry?"

"Sure," Starsky exhaled, then offered a weak smile in what he hoped was the direction of the door. "You do-"

"Yeah, Starsky, I have some of the junk you consider to be food," Hutch finished for him, humour lacing his tone.

"Atta boy," Starsky said happily.

"Though I am going to get some real food into you sometime," Hutch warned, invoking a groan of mock-exasperation from his partner.

Starsky felt Hutch's gaze on him for a brief moment, and then fading footsteps indicated that he had moved to the kitchen. Starsky stayed where he was for a little while, but a deep-seated ache had settled into his skull, and he figured that he might as well get the painful necessity of moving out of the way. He braced himself, then quickly rolled into an upright position.

A wave of dizziness swept over him, followed by the feeling that a giant fist had seized his brain and was trying to squeeze it through its fingers. His ribs were protesting, too, and suddenly it was hard to breath. Starsky found himself panicking, and the second wave of dizziness didn't help. He wished that he could see, so that he could latch onto the sight of something and let it anchor him, keep him steady. But he couldn't, and for the second time in the past 24 hours, he was completely disoriented. This time, though, he couldn't scream.

* * *

"Starsk, I have some leftover pizza in the fridge," Hutch said, entering the bedroom again. Personally, he thought cold pizza was disgusting in the morning, but he knew that Starsky would hate the cereal he had and he figured that he could humour the brunet for a little while at least… "Starsky?"

His partner was sitting up, but his body was rigid and as Hutch ran forward, food forgotten, he noticed that Starsky was wheezing, his face chalky white and his lips slowly turning blue. "Starsky!"

Blind eyes flickered in his direction, frightened tears streaming down his cheeks. His mouth formed Hutch's name, but no sound escaped.

"I'm right here, buddy," Hutch reassured him, enfolding his partner in his arms. "Take it easy. You gotta relax, it'll make breathing easier, just take it slow. Small breaths, now, don't try to take in too much at once, just a little bit at a time. C'mon, Starsk, you can do this." Hutch repeated this over and over, trying to keep his voice steady and soothing.

It took a while, but gradually the words sank in and the tension in Starsky slacked off a bit. He was breathing again, raggedly at first but more determinedly as the seconds passed.

"Guess I – shoulda – taken things a bit – slower – huh?" Starsky rasped eventually.

"You dummy," Hutch agreed, rubbing Starsky's shoulder. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

A wry smile twisted Starsky's lips. "Didn't realise – it'd hurt so – much."

Hutch gently pulled him closer, shifting his hand to lightly stroke the dark curls, providing comfort and a slight distraction from the pain. With them, actions often conveyed more than words, but for good measure he asked quietly, "You okay?"

Starsky released a sigh that was laced with fear, pain and frustration. "We'll get there," he said.

Hutch couldn't help but smile at how Starsky had automatically said _we_ rather than _I_, subconsciously reinforcing his trust in and reliance on his partner. "'Course we will," Hutch affirmed. "So how 'bout that pizza?"

Starsky perked up at that. "Sounds terrific," he enthused. "I should get hurt more often."

Hutch smiled, even as he twinged a little internally. He didn't mind taking care of his partner, and even enjoyed the opportunity to express more deeply than usual the love and affection he felt toward Starsky, but the accompanying pain and uncertainty he could have done without. Over the years he had come close to losing Starsky more times than he wanted to remember, and each time it felt as though a part of Hutch was dying alongside him. It was a danger that came with the territory of being a cop, he knew, and unfortunately he would probably face it again in the future. But it would never get any easier.

"Hutch?"

The gentle inquiry startled him out of his reverie. "Wha- oh." The pizza. "Ah, how many pieces d'ya want?" It was a weak cover, and Hutch knew that Starsky understood perfectly.

"Two should be good," was all he said.

"Right." Hutch gently shifted Starsky so he was propped up against a pile of cushions, and then headed back to the fridge.

* * *

A few days of bed rest improved Starsky's condition considerably. The doctor who dropped by the house for his check-up was happy to confirm that Starsky's ribs were beginning to heal, his bruises were fading and the concussion was easing gradually. A few days after that, Starsky was up and around, taking things slowly but able to move without too much pain.

As the new week dawned Hutch decided that he had delayed going to work for as long as possible. Dobey was generally very lenient on them in the event of injury, but there were reports to be written and a few small jobs that he needed to finish. When he broached the idea to Starsky he was careful to read his partner's expression. There were faint signs of worry and frustration there, but mostly a rueful understanding and acceptance.

"Just don't hit the streets without me, 'kay? Don't want you going in without back up."

Hutch nodded, momentarily forgetting that Starsky was blind. His partner had become uncannily good at seemingly meeting his eyes when they talked, so at times it was hard to remember that he couldn't actually see. "I won't," Hutch assured him.

Leaving Starsky reclining on his couch, Hutch retrieved his jacket and gun, then headed out to the station.

The days work was boring. Granted, he got more done without Starsky's idle prattle to distract him, but he came to realise how much he missed the brunet's company. He wasn't alone as such – what with all his fellow policemen going out of their way to talk to him and ask how Starsky was holding up – but he had to admit he was lonely. It was a relief when Dobey insisted that he get off early – "Go look after that partner of yours, Hutchinson" – and he complied eagerly, only stopping briefly at an Italian take-out place before heading home.

"Hey Starsky, I'm back!" Hutch called as he entered the house, dumping the food on the surface. "I bought Italian for dinner..." His voice trailed off as he caught sight of a shard of glass on the floor, smears of blood beside it. He was immediately concerned. "Starsky?" No reply.

He quickly ascertained that Starsky wasn't in the lounge and ran for the bedroom. "Starsky?" No sign of him there, either.

There was a sound of running water coming from the bathroom, Hutch realised, but when he tried to open the door he found that something was leaning against it on the other side.

"Hey Starsk, are you all right?" he asked loudly. No response. "C'mon buddy, answer me here." He hammered on the door and was rewarded by a faint groan. "Starsky, what happened?"

"Stay out of it," a voice growled.

"Are you hurt?" Hutch persisted. "I saw blood-"

"I said stay out of it, Hutchinson!"

But Hutch wasn't going to let that deter him, especially since the tone implied that Starsky was in pain.

"Don't make me knock the door down," he warned.

He heard an angry hiss from inside the bathroom, but the weight lifted from the door and Hutch slipped inside before Starsky had the chance to change his mind.

One glance confirmed his suspicions. Starsky stood in the far corner, shaking slightly, blood dripping from his cut-up hands. Hutch approached carefully and gently pulled a wrist closer to inspect it. Sure enough, in amongst the pooling crimson were faint glimmers of glass.

"What happened?" he repeated quietly.

Starsky snatched the hand away. "I was stupid," he said sharply. "Leave me alone."

"You dropped a glass, didn't you?" Hutch pushed. "And then tried to clean it up?"

Starsky grimaced. "Look, I'm sorry all right? I should just get outta here, stop smashing up your things." He made for the door.

Hutch snagged his arm and pulled him back. "Lemme help."

"Just leave me alone," Starsky muttered half-heartedly, feebly trying to pull away.

Ignoring him, Hutch retrieved a pair of tweezers. "This will hurt," he warned gently.

Starsky stopped fighting altogether, pain and exhaustion as well as an underlying trust in his partner dictating his actions. "Do it already," he sighed in resignation.

Hutch briefly placed a hand on Starsky's head of curls in silent apology, and then set to work drawing the shards of glass from Starsky's hands. He could only imagine what Starsky must have been feeling, surrounded by shattered glass and unable to see any of it. He didn't deserve this.

Setting aside the tweezers at last, Hutch gently ran water over Starsky's hands to wash away the blood, then tenderly wrapped them in bandages. "There," he said softly. "All done."

Starsky was silent for a long moment. Then, barely above a whisper, "Thanks."

Hutch pulled his friend into a gentle hug. "You're welcome," he murmured. After a long moment he said, "What is it about Italian, huh?"

Starsky's head tilted up at him, a quizzical expression on his face. "What?"

"Oh, I got Italian for dinner," Hutch explained, realising that Starsky hadn't heard him earlier.

"Ah." A wry smile twisted Starsky's lips as they both remembered the events that had taken place at a 'great little Italian restaurant' they had visited once. "I see what you mean."

"Hey, at least it wasn't a bullet this time," Hutch pointed out.

"Yeah," Starsky agreed, adding in a low mutter, "No trigger-happy guys to worry 'bout, just me being a danger to myself."

Hutch pretended that he hadn't heard. "So're you hungry enough to risk it?"

"Sure." Starsky moved towards the doorway, a hand stretched out in front of him to avoid accidentally crashing into something.

Hutch knew that the injured hand wouldn't appreciate bumping into the wall, so he carefully nudged Starsky in the right direction.

"Hutch..." Starsky said warningly.

"Oops."

"Hutch, I might be blind but I can still tell when you're mothering." Starsky's tone was definetely annoyed, but Hutch could tell that his partner was grudgingly grateful too, so he didn't deny the charge. He did let Starsky make his own way into the kitchen without interfering much, though he covered the corner of the table so Starsky's hand bumped into his own rather than the sharp edge. Starsky sighed, but didn't say anything.

"I'm gonna pop some of this stuff in the microwave," Hutch said, moving over to the now only faintly warm food. "You want a drink?"

Starsky grimaced and he subconsciously cradled his hands to his chest. "No thanks."

"I could put it in a plastic cup," Hutch offered gently.

"I'm fine, Hutch!" Starsky snapped. "Leave it alone."

"Okay," Hutch surrendered, not pushing it. He quickly attended to the food, and a few minutes later put a steaming plate of Italian in front of his friend.

"Smells great," Starsky enthused, reaching for his fork. As his hand closed around the cutlery, Hutch saw a pained expression flash over his face.

"Do you need-" he started to say, but Starsky cut him off sharply.

"I don't need your help, okay?"

Hutch bit his lip and backed away, resolving not to crowd the brunet at the moment, knowing that his friend was frustrated and upset by the whole situation.

Starsky began to eat, but after a few moments he sighed. "Hey, Hutch?"

Hutch stepped closer hesitantly. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take it out on you," Starsky apologised.

Hutch smiled in relief. "What are friends for, huh?"

Starsky flashed him a smile of mixed guilt and appreciation. "Yeah, but it's not like it's your fault."

Hutch winced. "I beg to differ," he mumbled.

"Hutch, you're not blaming yourself are you?" Starsky asked, his expression immediately switching to concern and his blue eyes seemingly locking onto Hutch's.

Hutch had forgotten how much Starsky's hearing had improved over the past week. "Your food's gonna get cold," Hutch said, trying to distract him, but Starsky was never one to be easily deterred.

"Hutch."

Hutch blew out a hard sigh. "I should have been there to back you up, Starsk."

"If I didn't see him I doubt you would have," Starsky said reasonably. "So he would have hit one of us anyway. Besides, I was ahead of you from the start and I run faster."

"I could've stopped him from hurting you so badly," Hutch said sullenly. He had tried not to think about the guilt churring inside him about what had happened, focusing instead on helping Starsky recover, but the truth was, he felt like his partner wouldn't have to be recovering if Hutch had done his job.

"You stopped him from killing me, didn'tcha?"

"Yeah, but Starsk-"

"And you caught our guy, didn'tcha?" Starsky pressed.

Hutch glanced away from the earnesty on Starsky's face. "He wasn't worth almost losing you," he said quietly. "Damn instincts that told me to let it play out until I was in a position to arrest him. If I had been any slower he could have killed you."

"But he didn't," Starsky replied in the same quiet voice, moving to place a gentle hand on Hutch's arm.

"You're blind though," Hutch pointed out bitterly. "You were devastated by the thought, the time when you accidently shot that girl-" Hutch felt Starsky tense at the memory. "You struggled with one hour, and now because of me you have to deal with weeks..."

"But it's just that, Hutch, weeks," Starsky said firmly. "Emily had a 50 percent chance of recovery, and she had to accept that and go on with her life. I would have been responsible for that, so my guilt was justified. But Hutch, the doctors say that once the swelling decreases I'll be fine. So don't worry your golden head about it, huh? Promise?"

Hutch smiled faintly. "Yeah, Starsk."

Starsky grinned. "Good, 'cause I'm getting hungry." And with that the serious conversation was over, and Starsky cheerfully returned to his meal.

Hutch shook his head bemusedly. He wasn't sure how the brunet had done it, but Starsky had given both Hutch and himself a much-needed pep talk, and it felt as though a weight had been lifted.

Hutch smiled and turned to his food again.

* * *

"Hey, Hutch?"

Hutch looked up from the book he was reading when Starsky entered the room. He noted with some pride that his partner was no longer having any trouble finding his way around; his hands hung loosely by his side and he strode through the doorway with confidence. Hutch had been careful not to move anything from its usual place or leave stuff lying around, and it had certainly helped, but he suspected that it had more to do with the brunet's trademark determination.

"Yeah, Starsk?" Hutch replied.

Starsky smiled, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet in excitement. "I wanna go out," he said.

Hutch lifted an eyebrow. "Where?"

Starsky shrugged. "Anywhere, I just wanna get out and do something."

Hutch could understand that, but he couldn't help but feel faintly concerned. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I don't think I'm ready for someplace like The Pits yet, but I'd like to go for a walk or something."

Hutch smiled. "Yeah, okay. Now?"

Starsky's grin broadened. "You're not busy?"

Hutch glanced down at the book he had been reading, then marked the page with a slip of paper. "Nah, I could do with some fresh air."

"Terrific!" Starsky said happily, a bounce in his step as he made for the door.

Hutch smiled at his friend's enthusiasm and pulled on his shoes, only keeping a cursory eye on Starsky as he easily found and slipped into his blue Adidas. When he straightened, Hutch threw an arm around his shoulders and together they walked out onto the street.

After a few paces Starsky tilted his head slightly, his sightless gaze shifting upwards, and asked, "Is it a nice day, Hutch?"

Hutch glanced up at the clear blue sky. "Hardly a wisp of cloud in sight," he reported.

Starsky smiled. "Mm, it smells nice." He lifted an eyebrow. "Hey Hutch, you're right – it smells like spring!"

Hutch laughed. "Told ya so."

"Still smoggy though," Starsky pointed out with a grin.

Hutch smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I guess."

A comfortable silence fell between them as they strolled along the path that didn't lead anywhere in particular. Hutch noticed that Starsky's familiar swagger had returned to his walk and was glad to recognise that his partner wasn't feeling afraid or uncomfortable. Everything was taking on a semblance of normalacy, and while he was looking forward to Starsky regaining his sight, at least the tension had disapated.

After a while, Starsky paused and cocked his head to the side as though he were listening.

Hutch, still with an arm around his friend, came to a stop beside him. "What's up?"

Starsky frowned. "I thought I heard something weird back there." He jerked his head over his shoulder to indicate the direction.

Hutch looked back, slowly becoming aware of the faint rumbling of an engine. "It's just a car, Starsk. Nothing to worry about."

"'Kay." But the frown didn't vanish as they continued forward, and Hutch found himself glancing sporadically back at the approaching vehicle as he tried to work out what had his friend so worried.

"Doesn't sound right," Starsky muttered as the noise grew louder.

Hutch was about to ask him what he meant when suddenly the brunet shoved him sideways and lunged after him, just as the car careened off the road and onto the sidewalk, missing them by inches. There was a sickening crunch of metal as the car slammed into a brick letter box just ahead of the two cops, coming to an abrupt halt and throwing the driver into the windscreen.

For a long moment Hutch didn't move, stunned by the unexpected chain of events. Starsky's nudge roused him, and he looked dazedly at the brunet.

"Wha-?"

"The driver," Starsky reminded him.

Hutch's gaze landed on the wrecked car and the limp figure who lay slumped over the steering wheel, and he scrambled to his feet, slipping into emergency mode. "We need to call an ambulance!"

Starsky nodded. "Where's the nearest phone?" he asked quickly.

"Just at the end of this street," Hutch observed, turning the brunet in the right direction and then shifting his attention to the injured man as Starsky ran off, trying to dredge up his past medical training. "Gotta stop the bleeding," he mumbled, wrenching open the damaged car door with some effort and tearing off his outer shirt to stem the flow until help arrived.

Hutch looked up from his task in surprise when something bumped into his head to see that his partner had returned.

"Well, it took me a few tries, but I got em," Starsky wheezed, his hand slipping from Hutch's head to his shoulder. "The ol' lady I called first was a little surprised-"

Hutch chuckled quietly, even as his fingers gently probed the young driver for further injuries.

"-but the ambulance's on its way," Starsky finished. His free hand gestured vaguely at the wounded man. "He all right?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah... Well he should be, the windscreen just did a little number on his head..." Hutch replied, absently remembering a similar injury he'd received and then dismissing the unpleasant memory.

"How 'bout you?" Starsky asked.

"A little bruised, but it could've been worse..." A frown flickered over Hutch's face as a thought dawned on him. "Hey, how d'you know he'd come off the road like that?"

Starsky shrugged. "I could hear there was something wrong with the motor, and he was coming too fast to've been in control," he explained, as if it were very simple.

Hutch's mouth gaped slightly. He had no idea just how good Starsky's hearing had become.

"You're gonna be a terror once we get back on the streets you know," he reflected. "Those felons won't so much as twitch without you hearing 'em."

Starsky smiled. "I can hear the ambulance sirens. It'll be here in a few."

Hutch nodded, taking his partner's word for it. "So much for a quiet walk, huh?" he joked, and Starsky ruffled his hair.

* * *

Hutch meandered into the bedroom, wondering why Starsky hadn't emerged yet. The omlettes he'd made for breakfast were getting cold, and that wasn't like his parter, who apart from now excellent hearing also had a well-honed sense of smell and an internal alarm clock unfaultingly set to meal times.

"Buddy, aren't ya hungry?" he queried, leaning against the door frame.

Starsky looked up slowly from where he sat on the edge of his bed, a grin spreading across his face. "Hey Belaya-River-Eyes."

"Hey yourself," Hutch said bemusedly.

Starsky's eyes slowly scanned the room, and then locked onto Hutch again.

"I'm not dreaming, right?"

Hutch was still confused by Starsky's behaviour. "Why should you be?"

The grin broadened. Starsky stood and in two quick strides was tightly embracing his friend. "I can see, Hutch."

Hutch did a double take and pulled away to look Starsky in the eyes. "Serious?"

Starsky bobbed his head. "It's a little fuzzy but."

Hutch couldn't help himself. He lifted two fingers and held them up in front of Starsky's face.

"How many-"

"Two, Hutch," Starsky said firmly, and it was Hutch's turn to grin.

"Starsky, that's great!" he exclaimed. "How-?"

"I woke up and found myself staring at the ceiling," Starsky answered, bobbing slightly in his excitement. "I didn't realise what it meant at first – I was just thinking how odd it was not to be looking into the mirror above my bed, and then I remembered that I shouldn't be looking at anything. Boy was I suprised."

Hutch laughed and pulled the brunet back into the bear hug, sharing in his joy. "How 'bout we call Huggy and Dobey 'n head down to The Pits to celebrate?" he suggested.

He felt Starsky smile against his shoulder. "I dunno... How long d'ya reckon we could make Dobey think I was still blind if we didn't?"


End file.
